Damned When Dead
Failed once again by the men of the cloth Condemned by the chair of the Rock of Rome “Here be the parchment and an emerald crusted ring Go to those barbarians, teach them to sing To the tune of its church and the hymn of its head I condemn those barbarians, leave them for dead If they feel they cannot follow my rule then cast them to sea in a boat made for fools And one more thing that I do command They part with their gold, the good and the bad So that they do pay homage to the Vicar of Christ And pay Peter’s Pence for the Church’s rigth To create new temples and palaces for God And his servants of course, for these be hard times.”
Submitted by NecroLord — Jun 23, 2026
Charged with the most pressing of tasks We journey far from Laighin’s shore In search of aid for my Righ’s cause From he who styles himself King of the English The second Henry, great grandson of the bastard Who wormed his way across the English channel Deposing the Saxon (who were) weakened by Danes Old habits die hard, landgrabbers So what be our fate. Vanquished of Victors Wolves gnaw at our heels so we ask the help of Lions To Wales where did begin our search To Fitzharding, De Barra and the Fleming O’er the March to the English plain, Saxon under the Gall Glassa’s yoke In London we’re told he be in France fighting to hold his third of that land Another voyage across the channel Before the Saxon they deposed the French So what be our fate, vanquished of Victors Wolves gnaw at our heels so we ask the help of Lions But to who will they turn when the wolves are gone? Frank, Saxon, Scot and Welsh, In their fate I feel the answer Many days of travel by horse and foot through a land rich ev’n in the poverty of war ‘Till finnaly with the King of the English was my Righ granted an audience The Gall be strange, slaves to ceremony, all restrained, cold if you will Cruel, calculating but fierce in war. Is our fate to follow the Saxon and Frank? Henry grants permission for troops to be gathered by my King in his name By royal writ and we return to Britain So what be our fate. Vanquished of Victors Wolves gnaw at our heels so we ask the help of Lions But to who will they turn when the wolves are gone? Frank, Saxon, Scot and Welsh, in their fate I feel the answer
Submitted by NecroLord — Jun 23, 2026
She be calm today, the most dangerous of waters Expanses of water as the eye can see Beyond its borders is where I’ll gain my victory And salvage my crown, Laighin be for me Though my kingdom be ruined, my family be strong Time shall pass, Tighernán will be gone With the grey foreigner under my rule ‘Twill be Ruaidhrí our glorious king who will be made of fool Upstarts from Connacht his family be Thinking ruler of that bog could one day be Ardrigh His mead must have been made much stronger than normal If he felt he could become warmonger A wind slowly starts to rise from the east I can feel the salt sting my face, the time be near It will not be long ‘till they be here Our allies will help us to crush the pretender king A blackbird perched atop of the sun Blinded by the darkness of Adrian’s Bull Spewing across the sea from his homeland As the threat of his own kin does finnaly fall at the feet of the devils grey Dawn did break As did he bows of their ships, the water With their armour and helm, glittering in the sunrise At the mouth of the bay known as Bannow The first of Bealtaine 1169, a date destined to strike fear and loathing In the hearts of the Irish for near a millenium As the sails were lowered While oar and the strength of man did the ships propel up to battle and bloodshed Victory, and the rise of the Grey Beyond the mouth of the bay known as Bannow With a hastely gathered five hundred men did Diarmuid Mac Murchadha heal south While still more foreigners Grey under De Prendergast’s banner did land at Bannow And so to the Veisafjord did the warriors go Norman, Fleming, Welsh and Irish To besiege the town of the Dubhghall And teach the Norse a lesson in soldiery
Submitted by NecroLord — Jun 23, 2026
Ua Ruaire you bastard, Ua Conchobhair you fool In the name of Mac Murchadha do I rule With Grey Foreigners at my command All Éire will quake, the Kings wake To the burning of their Dúns The waiting of their women The crying of their children And the death-moan of their men As their souls leak from their rotting corpses To whatever Gods do they believe in Did you really think, oh mighty Ard Righ That I would send my warriors home And once more groan under your yoke? You misguided fool, soon we’ll do the battle At my command All Éire will quake, the Kings wake To the burning of their Dúns The waiting of their women The crying of their children And the death-moan of their men As their souls leak from their rotting corpses To whatever Gods do they believe in Waiting for my time to come Hoping that my plans be not undone For my time it be at hand To finally reclaim my land Horror, the Ard Righ still has my son Despair, he would not dare to kill my son Hostage, so I could return to my land Ochone, my scheme undone by death’s hand Waiting for my time to come Hoping that my plans be not undone For my time it be at hand To finally reclaim my land Horror, the Ard Righ still has my son Despair, he would not dare to kill my son Hostage, so I could return to my land Ochone, my scheme undone by death’s hand
Submitted by NecroLord — Jun 23, 2026
A screaming wraith atop a cliff Writhing in an orgasm of slaughter One-by-one seventy men Did she depatch with an ever blunting blade of an axe Bloody Alice of Abergavenny Gripped by the rapture of Gaedhelic gore Dripping slowly down the cliffside Seventy dead, yet she wants more Bloody Alive of Abergavenny From what fashion house does your cloth come? All natural fibres I’ll warrant From the dye, to the cloth, to the thread from the dead Prisoners they were but no matter to her Her bloodlust fuelled by the pain of her loss For earlier that day her spouse’s corpse lay decaying On the bloody field of battle Bloody Alice of Abergavenny Gripped by the rapture of Gaedhelic gore Dripping slowly down the cliffside Seventy dead, yet she wants more Bloody Alive of Abergavenny Her body dripping from her labour and it’s fruits As she gives so she taketh away Though he was of the invading force And dispatched by the defenders As so often is the case in life A woman’s rational is replaced by madness A screaming atop a cliff Blooddied breasts for all to see Yet no man looked on her with lust As her needs fullfilled with a montain of corpses to her knees Bloody Alice of Abergavenny Gripped by the rapture of Gaedhelic gore Dripping slowly down the cliffside Seventy dead, yet she wants more Bloody Alive of Abergavenny Her body dripping from her labour and it’s fruits As she gives so she taketh away
Submitted by NecroLord — Jun 23, 2026
And the tyrants did reach the Vedrafjord Where the very earth did wail from the treachery Sang by the soil, soaked through at Dún Domhnaill Breaching the walls the vermin did enter Women and children and men they were butchered The streets ran with blood The corpses piled high The mountain of dead rose to the sky Gaedhel and Gall Dubh did man the walls Gaedhel and Gall Dubh did fight and fall As attack, attack, attack did the Grey ones mount Pulling down the walls Did they then sack and slaughter all Raghnall's Tower was last to fall Long alter the slaughter at the wall Ua Faoileán, two Sitrics, the Norse Lord Raghnall Faught and repelled them time and again 'Till finally wearied and covered in blood They succumbed to the butchers Two Sitrics beheaded The others though Mac Murchadha did save Though the Norman butchers did want them to the grave Gaedhel and Gall Dubh did man the walls Gaedhel and Gall Dubh did fight and fall As attack, attack, attack did the Grey ones mount The city in ruins Did they then sack and slaughter all And so amidst the piles of rotting corpses Were Aoife and Richard de Clare wed 'Neath the August sun of 1170 Was the treachery complete amidst the bodies of the dead Gaedhel and Gall Dubh did man the walls Gaedhel and Gall Dubh did fight and fall As attack, attack, attack did the Grey ones mount Pulling down the walls Did they then... Gaedhel and Gall Dubh did man the walls Gaedhel and Gall Dubh did fight and fall As attack, attack, attack did the Grey ones mount The city in ruins Did they then sack and slaughter all
Submitted by NecroLord — Jun 23, 2026
(<em>Instrumental</em>)
Submitted by Infernal Flame — Jul 05, 2026
The earth cold and damp presses against my shroud Mortality has fled my mortal frame Immortal will forever be my name This earth has drank much blood In the fight to save my land Strange it is this feeling knowing my crown has passed to the Gall's hand The bells knell in sorrow as I am lowered down The cold earth is silent for a time My headstone, a cross of stone, bears my name To remind all men that here I lie Deep within the bosom of the world I finally become aware Noises that I cannot comprehend Whispers at first but now a roar Deafening it is, fear does grip my soul What is this ancient horror that calls me to its own? A thunderous crack sounds overhead As my cross is shorn in two Has God passed sentence on my life? I fear it could be true My soul is slowly being sucked back to whence it came Slowly I realise it be not God Manannán be his name The earth which I no longer feel press against my skin The shroud half hanging from my corpse Trailing still within the bog which spews me up from the bowels Of this ancient land I knew Ochone, what is this hell on earth Is this what from my dreams grew? Putrid when living, damned when dead
Submitted by NecroLord — Jun 23, 2026